


Blessed

by SleepsWithCoyotes



Category: Welcome to Night Vale
Genre: M/M, Tentacle Sex, Tentacles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-03-12
Updated: 2016-03-12
Packaged: 2018-05-26 08:20:57
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 7,887
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6231232
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SleepsWithCoyotes/pseuds/SleepsWithCoyotes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Be careful what you ask for....</p>
            </blockquote>





	Blessed

**Author's Note:**

> Archiving old fic from 2013 - I actually haven't listened since ep 33, from the looks of things, so everything I post will likely be terribly non-canon-compliant. No comment spoilers, please--I do intend to get caught up!
> 
> book_people mentioned liking my "plausible reactions to randomly acquiring tentacles" kink. (Actually, I just have a plausible reactions kink. And an explaining game physics kink. And. Well, I have a lot of kinks.) I decided I should totally not stop there, which makes this utterly book_people's fault. ♥

It had been a long day. First the equipment at the station had been acting up, forcing Cecil to read the first part of his broadcast backwards so that the words would come out in the proper order. He'd spent most of that hour with a screwdriver and needle-nosed pliers in hand, dragging the microphone with him as he moved around the studio, rewiring the deliberate snarl the equipment had made of itself--and what _had_ it gotten up to the night before?--while trying not to curse on-air when he inevitably got bitten for his troubles. Mostly tame, they never bit very hard, just a pop and snap of flickering sparks to remind him that technology could go feral at any time. It didn't even leave a mark, but by the time the studio was put to rights again, his fingers were sore and the less said about his hair the better.

Though he tried to be civic-minded about it, lunch had been dismal. In an unexpected reversal of their original 'regard with suspicion' policy, City Council had decided that Carlos and his team of scientists were not just welcome but useful, a distinction few outsiders had earned. As such they'd been added to the rolls of the town's reserve forces, issued their own code names and ordered to report to the abandoned missile silo outside of town for mandatory orientation. Carlos had apologized profusely that morning for missing their lunch date, but when he admitted he hadn't attended a sexual harassment seminar in nearly two years, Cecil knew it couldn't be helped.

After moping his way through lunch alone, he'd gone back to the studio to find an email printed off and waiting on his desk with no intern in sight. That should have been enough of warning, but no; he'd had to go and read it.

He'd been right in the middle of a blisteringly ironic recounting of _Steve Carlsberg's_ message over the air when he got an unexpected delivery of feelings. Ordinarily a pleasant surprise, the timing on the highly-coveted "blind belief that everything learned via email is true" left a lot to be desired.

By the time he finally made it home, all he wanted to do was crawl into the shower and then into bed, text Carlos a forlorn goodnight and let the horrors of sleep dwarf the frustrating string of minor unpleasantries that had made up his day. Instead he'd opened his door to find the walls inside his apartment practically vibrating from the cavernous chanting of the apartment above, one corner of the living room ceiling having been turned into a pulsating black pustule dripping steaming ichor right into the middle of his bloodstone circle.

"Cyäegha bless it!" he swore, turning on his heel and storming down the hall and up the stairs, not caring who he woke with his stomping. This was _exactly_ why he'd been hesitant to invite Carlos over before now, but more than that, it was just rude. He knew the parents of the kid above him, that the boy was used to holding his rituals in their garage and that this was his first time being out on his own, but could he not think even once of his fellow residents? _It didn't have to be hard._

Raising his fist to pound on the door, he froze at the sound of a high-pitched shriek from inside, the precise octave reachable only by an eighteen year-old male whose prayers--and sacrifices--have been answered beyond his wildest dreams, for which he is very, very sorry.

"Ugh," Cecil groaned, huffing out a sigh and taking a reluctant step back. _Neighbors._

"You owe me," he muttered, then kicked down the door.

***

The first soft brush against his cheek had him grumbling into his pillow, unwilling even to lift his head to check the bedside clock for the time. His alarm wasn't going off, and that told him all he needed to know. It was early. Far too early for someone to be trailing a gentle finger along the line of his jaw and down the back of his neck, making him shiver and hunch his shoulders.

" _Carlos_ ," he whined, smooshing his face deeper into his pillow even as his cock gave a hopeful twitch. Shifting restlessly as the light touch paused and almost lifted, he stubbornly kept himself from rolling his hips down into the mattress for a bit of friction. It really was far too early, and if he gave the man the slightest bit of encouragement, he'd have a hot mouth trailing over his neck and a warm scientist pressed along his back, and then he'd never get back to sleep. "Mmm," he sighed, rolling his head just a little to bare a teasing hint of his throat as the touch firmed along his spine.

He supposed getting an early start on his day wasn't such a bad idea...but whatever had possessed him to invite Carlos back to his own place? He hadn't even cleaned up from the night--

What settled against his back was not the solid, sturdy chest of his lover, and what wrapped around him were definitely not Carlos' arms.

He expected more resistance as he shoved himself up hard, but the thing crawling over him was light, smaller than he'd realized. It fit neatly between his shoulder blades--smooth, skin-warm--but he didn't know what it _was._ Carbon-black tentacles slid around his arms, over his shoulders, looping his neck without pulling tight, and he couldn't _stop_ them. No matter how hard he pulled and clawed, they clung to his skin without budging, as if they didn't feel his attempts to dislodge them at all.

Lunging out of bed, he lost his balance as his feet tangled in the sheets and fell over, the windows rattling as he landed. Stupidly he found himself cringing at the noise; his own downstairs neighbors were definitely going to be unhappy with him. Kicking himself free he staggered up, reaching behind himself to claw at his back. Whatever was on him was a roundish lump, its surface soft but unyielding, and then it... _shifted,_ some strange ripple passing over its surface that caught briefly against his fingernails, dragged by, and then reversed.

Whimpering helplessly he bolted for the bathroom and the only mirror in his apartment as another suckerless tentacle wound around his neck. They _were_ pulling tighter; they had to be, because he couldn't breathe, his heart wouldn't slow, and as he smacked his hand against the light switch and turned half-around, he saw spots dancing at the edge of his vision even before he peered over his shoulder.

The great, green eye on his back blinked at him as still more tentacles uncoiled from its mass, snaking down his back to anchor at his waist, his hips. Lower.

_Cyäegha._ The thing looked like a living avatar of Cyäegha, the Destroying Eye, the Waiting Dark, Cecil's own patron.

And it was seeping into his skin.

When the swarming black spots eclipsed his sight and his eyes rolled back in his head, he let it happen, grateful for the mercy.

***

Waking on the floor of the bathroom had been a regular occurrence for most of Cecil's adult life, familiar enough that the first thing he did upon sitting groaningly up was flush the toilet automatically. It occurred to him only belatedly that he didn't feel hung over, that his mouth tasted no worse than it usually did first thing in the morning. When his nightmare came back to him in a rush, he patted himself down frantically, scrambling to his feet to peer at his back, but he found nothing but his own familiar skin.

"Fuck," he breathed, bracing his hands on the bathroom counter and sagging in relief. He must have missed the notice yesterday warning of soul-destroying night terrors; with the day he'd had, he wasn't surprised. It was strange that his nightmare had figured his own patron; had he forgotten an observance somehow? He could have sworn his last offerings had been accepted with more enthusiasm than the Great One usually condescended to show.

Frowning into the mirror, he cast his mind back, but he couldn't think of a single thing that might have angered Cyäegha. The blood he'd offered was fresh and willingly-given; the incense and candles he'd burned had been of his own making. Just weeks ago he'd even offered up the eyes of a Howling Leech after Carlos, in an unbelievably thoughtful gesture, brought _him_ a fresh carcass, pretending he'd just found it in his bathtub that morning, and oh, did Cecil want it, then? Slaying the beast had been 'an accident,' Carlos modestly swore.

They'd made other offerings as well that night, Carlos blushing hotly the entire time, but eyes and blood and seed had all been accepted. Cyäegha had seemed pleased. So why the nightmare?

Sighing out heavily, he closed his eyes to gather himself, opened them again--

The bright, terribly _human_ eye that opened in the middle of his forehead was a lambent, poisonous green, and the way it made his vision double and smear hammered a spike of panic right through him.

Leaping back from the mirror, he fetched up hard against the open door at his back, bare shoulders slamming into wood. He shrieked a heartbeat later as writhing ropes of black unfurled behind him to whip threateningly through the air, as if the blow had startled them awake. Instinct made him duck as well as lunge, hitting the tiles on hands and knees and scrambling to get away, but the tentacles followed him. When he threw a horrified glance at the bathroom door, it stood utterly, wretchedly bare of mysterious tears in the fabric of reality and tentacles alike...but the tentacles were still there.

He got as far as the corner of the hall before he had to stop. What he wanted most was to put his back to something, but they were _there_ , weren't they? He could feel them a little as they moved, tugging at muscle and skin--not like they were attached, but as if moving through his flesh had the same drag and resistance as dipping a hand into a basin of water.

Crouching as close to the corner as he could without _touching_ anything, he stared blindly at the bare, off-white walls and tried to bring his galloping heart back under control. The strangled, inhuman sound he made as his vision went wobbly again made his own skin prickle with gooseflesh, startled the tentacles at his back into cutting sharp and vicious shapes through the air. That...eye must have opened again, and he shut his own human pair, covering them both with shaking hands and sobbing helplessly when he realized he could still _see._

Eventually it closed again, but Cecil didn't move. He felt outside himself, his nerves replaced by cotton wool, wrapped in the familiar comfort of disassociation the Elders sometimes granted before terror could burst the mind. As panic ebbed and numbness took its place, the busy rippling up and down his back slowed, stilled, and faded gradually away. When he opened his eyes again, the tentacles were gone.

Breathing shallowly, Cecil allowed himself to very carefully approach that thought. Black tentacles. A single, glowing green eye.

_Cyäegha._

Down the hall, his alarm clock clicked sharply and blared to life.

It was time to get ready for his show.

***

It might have been a disaster. Cecil wasn't sure. He remembered almost nothing of his broadcast but a stream of papers that passed before him and the long, steady stare of the microphone gazing back. At one point Steve Carlsberg sent him another email. _Are they dosing your water or are you dying in there?_ And then, later, _Don't make me come down there for nothing, you asshole._ He answered that one--probably. The first thing he'd done when he arrived was send all the interns home, so it wasn't as if anyone would have been there to answer the door regardless.

Halfway through the show, a voice mail from Carlos came through.

" _Cecil,_ " he said, and it still made Cecil's heart leap inside his ribs at the new way Carlos said his name: softer, with a warmth that made his tone less driven and more direct, Cecil the object and not the intermediary of his message. " _Sorry to call during the show. I was hoping to catch you at break, but this was the only time they'd give me._ "

Cecil smiled despite himself, pressing the phone more closely to his ear. To think Carlos had actually been allowed to call out during orientation. City Council must _really_ like him.

" _Anyway, we're running a bit long here with all the training videos, so they're going to be keeping us overnight. They won't even let us have a radio, so I have no idea what's happening in town_ ," he added, a touch forlorn. " _You'll have to get me caught up when we get back. How about over dinner? Give me a call when you get a chance._ "

It wasn't that long ago that Carlos would have hung up then without a goodbye. Cecil had been fine with that, even before Carlos had started leaving little pauses at the end, like there was something more he wanted to say. Sometimes Cecil would skip the message back just to listen to the silence.

" _Miss you,_ " Carlos said clearly this time, hushed and warm.

Cecil closed his phone with a snap and bowed into the desk, covering his head with his shaking hands.

***

Station Management had nothing to say to him when he gathered up his courage to whisper through the door, but he wasn't sure what he'd expected. The Great Ones didn't often interfere with each other, didn't care what other masters their servants answered to so long as they served _well_ in the moment. If he'd been foolish enough to hope for clear advice to be pushed out from under the door, he would have been disappointed.

When he returned to his apartment, he had to steel himself to walk through the door. There was no reason for his trepidation; location likely had nothing to do with however he'd angered his patron. Maybe he'd misstepped in bringing Carlos into the ritual. He'd only wanted to introduce Carlos to the Great One, share whatever blessings Cyäegha chose to bestow after such a rare offering, but maybe his patron had mistaken Carlos for another, better sacrifice Cecil had been preparing and was angry it hadn't been forthcoming.

He shuddered at the thought as he slowly closed the door behind himself, even as something tickled the back of his thoughts. He was missing something, he knew it, but it wouldn't quite come clear.

Glancing up and to the left with a sigh, he glared resignedly at the black stain still painted across his living room ceiling. At least it wasn't still oozing or pulsing, returned to simple plaster again, but he was the one who'd have to chant the purification rituals if he wanted his cleaning deposit returned. He needed to fetch a mop as well; what with everything that had happened, he hadn't even scrubbed the mess out of his bloodstone circle.

His bloodstone circle which...looked suspiciously pristine, as if it'd never been used.

Frowning, Cecil crossed slowly to that corner of the room, glancing up at the inky stain overhead and down again to the clean if slightly dusty stones at his feet. There were no clotted splashes of dark ichor, no slick gobbets of unidentified meat left behind--and he knew what he'd seen the night before when he'd thrown his hands up at the mess and went off to fall into bed. Something had...taken what he'd foolishly left behind. Almost like....

' _Cyäegha bless it_.'

An offering.

Legs giving out on him without warning, Cecil dropped to his knees and stared. _He'd_ done this. Called on his patron while there was ichor and flesh within the circle, after offering up a sacrifice even the Great Ones saw maybe once in a century. And Cyäegha had heard, and _had_ blessed it, and now he was wearing the mark of his patron upon and within his body. Far from being cursed, he'd been done a great honor.

An honor Carlos wasn't going to understand in the slightest.

He wasn't fool enough to beg for it to be taken back. Carlos would be just as upset to find him dead as to find him...changed, assuming anyone found enough of him to recognize. It was just that explaining it would be...gods. He just didn't know.

Carlos enjoyed exploring Night Vale's mysteries, but it was Cecil he came to when he wanted to feel safe. He'd said so himself.

Maybe Carlos wouldn't have to know. The tentacles had only come out once that day, when Cecil had panicked, and when his third eye was closed, it vanished as completely as the tentacles did. If he could keep calm and keep the tentacles from manifesting, discover what had triggered the eye in the first place and avoid that as well, then maybe....

Maybe Carlos wouldn't hate him too very much when he found out in the end. And he would find out. Carlos was a scientist. His entire philosophy was built around _finding out_ , and despite Carlos' own beliefs to the contrary, he was terribly, troublesomely good at it.

If he hadn't been, the City Council wouldn't be trying even now to claim him for their own.

***

He'd honestly thought he'd have more time. He'd left a message for Carlos saying that something had come up, something important, and maybe they could meet in a few days. He expected Carlos to be put off; who in their right mind _wouldn't_ want to see their lover immediately after their release from the abandoned missile silo outside of town? He wasn't sure if he was more hoping for a temporary cooling between them or petrified he might be hastening the end. He just needed a few days, long enough to get a handle on how his so-called blessing worked, to come up with something--anything--to say when Carlos inevitably noticed.

Instead he was jolted awake just after seven in the morning. Someone was pounding on his door, urgently enough that he sat bolt upright just to avoid the crawling sensation of more than a dozen tentacles squirming out from under him, lashing the empty air to fend off whatever had startled him. " _Cecil!_ " Carlos shouted outside, uncaring of the early hour. " _Cecil, come on! Wake up! Cecil?_ "

Cursing under his breath, Cecil looked around wildly, first for escape and then for his phone. There was no reason for Carlos to sound so desperately worried, unless--

Cecil groaned. Unless in a fit of gloom Cecil had silenced his phone after leaving that stupid, stupid voice mail and now had seventeen missed calls. But why hadn't Carlos simply taken his callous first message to heart?

He wasn't going to be able to defuse the situation by shouting through a door. He needed to calm himself. Somehow.

Tumbling out of bed, he scrambled to pull a pair of boxers and an undershirt from the dresser, nearly falling over twice as he tried to step into the former on the way to the door. It did nothing to slow his frantic pulse, and though he hoped to at least bunch the tentacles up and partially hide them from view as he pulled the undershirt over his head, he found out immediately that they weren't hampered by fabric any more than they were by flesh. They slipped right through, arching around him in a snaking fan, as if waiting to defend him against an attack.

He closed his eyes, forced himself to breathe. This was Carlos. He didn't need defending against _Carlos._

The pounding on the door had stopped. Outside he could hear Carlos speaking to someone in slow, measured tones, concerned but determined. Trying to take that calmness into himself, he let out a slow, relieved sigh when the tentacles retreated, tucking themselves reluctantly away.

"Yes, ma'am, that's why I'm--Cecil!" Carlos exclaimed as Cecil opened the door. Over Carlos' shoulder, Sheryl Anderson peered at him worriedly, but it was the desperate way Carlos' eyes tracked over him, as if searching for wounds, that made him step back a pace. Carlos couldn't possibly _know._ No one had seen him in his changed state--no one _could_ have seen him--well...other than the Faceless Old Woman who lived in his apartment, that is. And possibly the Secret Police. Who Carlos had spent the last two days with.

"Carlos," Cecil began, trying to will himself calm, utterly calm.

"Are you all right?" Carlos demanded. "I came back to fifty messages from people who heard your show--Steve Carlsberg called me _twice._ They said you sounded awful."

"I'm fine," Cecil said, as much for Mrs. Anderson, who looked more concerned than irritated at being roused so early, as for Carlos. "I just, uh...had something...come up." There was no way he could keep this hidden; he knew that now. Better to just get it over with quick. "Maybe you'd better come inside."

Carlos nodded, not looking reassured in the least, and Cecil gave Sheryl a strained smile as he stepped aside to let Carlos pass. She likely would have been thrilled for him if she knew what had happened, and he hoped she'd forgive him for worrying her when the truth came out.

When he shut the door and turned back to face his boyfriend, he found Carlos staring at the huge black stain on his ceiling.

"Tell me your neighbor hasn't done something stupid," Carlos said flatly in a tone Cecil knew. It meant he had roughly twenty seconds before Carlos forgot he was a man of peaceful science and went to go design a doom ray.

Cecil took a deep breath, let it out slowly. "It was...something of a joint effort, actually."

Carlos turned to him with a puzzled look, but even as Cecil was going green, realizing how badly that that could be taken, Carlos was back to checking him over for major trauma. "You don't _look_ injured...." Carlos said doubtfully.

Cecil shook his head. Gods, this was awful. "I'm not. It, uh...well, it might seem a little strange at first, and no matter what it looks like, it was actually intended as a blessing, but...you might find it a little...off-putting."

Carlos' concerned look was only deepening. "Find...what off-putting, exactly?"

It would have been easier to show him, Cecil realized, but now that Carlos was standing right in front of him, the tentacles wouldn't budge. Either he was feeling the wrong kind of panic, or soul-crushing dread was some sort of tentacle neutralizer, or--he just wished he knew how this would end so he'd know what to brace himself for.

The sudden doubling of his vision struck him with a jolt of vertigo, the pit of his stomach going weightless, convinced the floor had just dropped a good inch beneath him. Wavering helplessly on his feet, his hands flew out searching for anchors he didn't truly need as time slowed to a crawl. Carlos' eyes widened by torturous degrees as his lips parted soundlessly, staring at the center of Cecil's forehead in utter, frozen horror.

Cecil closed his stinging human eyes, swallowing down his hurt--and _Saw_ with unwavering, depthless focus the way everything changed, Carlos' planes and edges sharpening, straining, rising out of the flat sameness of the world around him as every particle of the man aligned in singular purpose. Like iron filings jumping to the pull of a magnet, Carlos closed the distance between them in one long stride, catching Cecil before he could stumble. Carlos' naked shock hadn't ebbed, but already the horror was fading, replaced by curiosity. When Cecil's third eye retreated briefly back into Cecil's flesh, pulling Cecil's skin around it in a clumsy blink, Carlos jumped, but the warm hands at Cecil's sides only gripped him more tightly.

"Is...can you... _how_ can you see like that?" Carlos asked distractedly. "I mean...you can see, right? That--was that vertigo just now? And you've got your--your _other_ eyes closed, and...God, your depth perception must be all off, but--the _optic nerve,_ Cecil!"

Now that they were touching, some of the single-mindedness that had thrown Carlos into sharp relief in Cecil's altered vision was beginning to fracture, but Cecil could still _See_ where Carlos' attention began to branch. Ghost images that flickered like television static surrounded Carlos in a haze, settling finally into a pair of shapes that became clearer by the moment. One phantom hand reached up and lightly touched two fingers to Cecil's brow, just beneath his third eye. Another reached up and cupped his cheek.

Carlos himself was flickering too, tiny flecks of noncolor like the afterimage of light on the inside of a closed eyelid racing just underneath his skin. While he was chewing his lip in frustration, the dark flecks buzzed around him like a cloud of gnats, but as determination firmed his expression, he grew more solid, grounded in the present.

It was _possibilities_ he was seeing, Cecil realized with a start as Carlos reached up and curved a hand to his cheek, the other of Carlos' ghost-selves collapsing entirely. If the phantoms were fragments of if, then the black sparks must be moments of flux; it was no wonder that Carlos, decisive Carlos, was the truest thing in the room. But if that was the case, there hadn't been nearly as many possible outcomes as Cecil had expected. In one potential future Carlos had let his curiosity rule. In this one, he hadn't.

In no future that Cecil could see did Carlos walk away.

"There's more," Cecil said nervously, keeping his mortal eyes closed. His third eye seemed to be in no hurry to vanish again, only this time he was grateful. Forewarned, he might be able to defuse matters if it all became too much.

Carlos' brows arched a fraction higher. "How much more?"

Cecil tried to smile reassuringly, but it felt more like a grimace. "You remember the statue we sacrificed to a few weeks ago? The icon of my patron?"

"The Crawling Eye?"

For a startled beat, all three of Cecil's eyes opened wide. "What? No, that's Othuyeg. Cyäegha is the _Destroying_ Eye."

"Of course," Carlos said, laugh lines deepening as he tried to rein in a smile. "You know I'm still catching...on," he said more slowly, frowning at Cecil's third eye. It wasn't a suspicious frown or an angry one; it was his thoughtful frown, and much as Cecil liked to tease him at times, Carlos was always frighteningly quick about his catching on if pointed in the right direction. "It's green," he said. "And yours are...ah." Carlos swallowed hard as Cecil quickly closed his mortal eyes, steeling himself to See anything without flinching. "You have...tentacles now, don't you?"

"Maybe?" Cecil hedged, his voice high and tight.

Against the lazy drift of sparks that winked through him like dim stars, Carlos in his steadfast certainty nearly glowed.

"Show me," he said, hands sliding down to anchor on Cecil's hips, his eyes holding Cecil's unnatural own with more calmness than Cecil could have found in his position.

Inexplicably Cecil found himself thrown, and it took a confused moment to realize it was because meeting Carlos' eyes had always been like staring into a mirror; from his new perspective, with Carlos' gaze angled up to meet his, he felt strangely as if he were looming. Not threateningly--of course not--but with the unshakeable urge to hover over Carlos and wrap him up close and tight and--

He nearly jumped himself when a long coil of black, half as wide as his wrist, arched over his shoulder, joined by over a dozen more. They didn't just seem drawn to Carlos; he'd swear they were actively reaching for him, though they didn't quite dare to touch. Cecil knew exactly how they felt.

Carlos was flickering again, his expression gone unexpectedly solemn, and oh, that was a _terrible_ sign, surely. He had to be trying to think of ways to politely excuse himself from the half-embrace he'd instigated. The air around him was full of ghosts, hands rising up in so many directions--panicked, maybe, or fending him off, as if he believed Cecil would _attack_ him. He nearly choked at the thought, a hundred desperate reassurances piling up behind the knot in his throat as Carlos finally broke and--

" _Hngh_ ," Cecil managed, grateful for the second time that night that Carlos was there to hold him up.

Carlos had reached up and taken the nearest of his tentacles in hand, his warm, strong fingers curled in a casual grip neither too loose nor too firm. He'd left _wiggle room,_ Cecil decided, on the verge of hysterics, and he didn't seem the slightest bit disturbed when Cecil's trapped... _appendage_ did just that. Caught, it thrashed just like Khoshekh's tail for a moment, but the instant it realized it wasn't trapped, it utterly declined to escape. It nudged _into_ Carlos' palm, in fact, in a way that would have made Cecil blush if his face hadn't been scalding already.

"So you can feel with them?" Carlos asked, watching rapt as the black tentacle started to wind up his wrist. It took exception to the material of his lab coat and dove insistently inside his sleeve, searching for skin.

"A-apparently so," Cecil managed, leaning into the hand that was still settled at his hip as he edged uncertainly closer.

Carlos pulled him the rest of the way, hand sliding to splay at the base of Cecil's spine as he tried distractedly to free his other wrist, focusing on Cecil and not his tentacles with a frown. "You don't sound certain."

"Well, I didn't know!" Cecil protested, trying not to flail his arms in case it gave his tentacles ideas. "They just appeared out of nowhere and climbed inside me, and I was trying not to touch _anything_ \--I was trying to figure out how to get rid of them!--and I just...I thought you...."

"You thought I'd leave you over this."

Cecil nodded, throat too tight to speak. Heedless of the tentacles, Carlos dragged him into a hug, and Cecil all but melted into him, hands fisted on the back of Carlos' lab coat.

"Oh, Cecil." Carlos petted his hair for a moment then shook his head. "If I were going to leave, I'd have done it already."

"I think I was hoping for something more romantic," Cecil mumbled into Carlos' neck without letting go.

Carlos snorted. "You and I both know that when I say I'm a hopeless romantic, I don't mean that in a good way. But Cecil--you also know I'd rather see _you_ than an accredited physician after being ventilated by the tiny weapons of a tiny, angry city."

He didn't _want_ to laugh, and he certainly didn't want to make such an embarrassing sporfling noise while he was at it, but he found himself both comforted and cheered all the same.

Carlos wasn't done.

"I'd rather do tree science with you than rocket science with any ten of my peers," he informed Cecil seriously, though a smile lurked in his voice. "I'd rather listen to you tell the entire town about all of my faults than hear anyone else sing my praises. And I'd rather be utterly confused by your tentacles than comfortably bored by anyone else. Is that any better, or should I just quit while I'm ahead?"

"You're perfect," Cecil said with a watery grin.

Carlos huffed the way he always did when Cecil told him that, but he was smiling when he pulled back to search Cecil's face. "Are you sure you're all right? I mean, even if this is, uh...some kind of blessing, you said? You didn't sound like you were expecting it."

"That's because I wasn't," Cecil admitted with a grimace. Even his tentacles drooped, looking as chagrined as he felt. He had to wonder why they weren't retreating now that his panic had ebbed, but they seemed distracted. Emboldened by Carlos' touch, they were no longer hanging back, curving around Cecil to drape across Carlos' shoulders, one sliding into his sleeve again while others plucked at his coat like children seeking attention. He hadn't been expecting to feel what they felt--even borrowing his new eye's Sight hadn't quite reconciled him to thinking of them as a part of him--but they were extraordinarily sensitive, imprinting the soft weave of light cotton and the smooth warmth of Carlos' inner wrist across Cecil's senses.

"Then how...?" Carlos asked encouragingly, reminding Cecil to focus.

"It was sort of an accident. That is...well, there was... _material_ all over my bloodstone circle, and I may have said something without thinking about it, and when I woke up the next morning, I was--actually, let's not talk about that. But really," he said quickly as Carlos began to frown again, "being given Cyäegha's mark like this is a very high honor! I imagine there'll be a ceremony once I make the announcement. Oh, and I'll have to be much more careful about how I cover the mayoral race," he realized with a twinge of anxiousness, hoping he hadn't made too many thoughtless mistakes in his last broadcast. "If it looks like I'm endorsing one of the candidates, I could actually sway people's opinions--"

"You mean more than usual?"

Cecil blinked, wondering at Carlos' fond smile. "What makes you say that?"

Chuckling quietly, Carlos ducked his head to hide a grin. When he looked up again, his eyes were soft. "Thanks for reminding me," he said, which even coming from his often-cryptic boyfriend made less sense than usual, but Cecil didn't mind. It was hard to mind much of anything with Carlos leaning in to kiss him, so certain of what he wanted there were no other ghosts of possible--oh, well, there went one.

That one leaned a little to the left, opened its mouth, and dragged its tongue along one of Cecil's tentacles.

Cecil shuddered, moaning helplessly at the thought. Carlos froze instantly, studying him in surprise that turned slowly to embarrassment. "Did...you forget to mention turning telepathic, by any chance?"

"Nnn...I mean no," Cecil corrected himself with a blush. "Not telepathic. I can just...see the future. A little. A _very_ little, and it's more like seeing the things you _might_ do--"

"Like this?" Carlos asked, twisting his left wrist, the one captured by one of Cecil's tentacles, to snare the coil with a firm hand and a soft squeeze.

"Not," Cecil breathed, startled by how intimate that felt, "not quite--"

"Oh? You didn't see that one coming?" Carlos' smile turned cheerfully wicked as he circled his thumb in a gliding caress.

"I'm not--I'm not m-made of _eyes_ ," he gasped as Carlos tugged gently, letting the tentacle slip through his fist the way he'd stroke Cecil's cock.

"Probably a good thing," Carlos murmured, curiously observing the effect as he tightened his fingers against the needy push of the coil he'd caught. His other hand was drifting up, sneaking under Cecil's shirt to press a warm palm against his spine, fingers twitching as they bumped into the new limbs rising out of his flesh. "Are they phasing right through your shirt?"

"Uhn," Cecil managed as Carlos delicately examined the base of one, fingertips tracing the boundary where skin met snaking appendage.

"May I see?" he asked with a tucked chin, peering at Cecil through his lashes, tone diffident. "Not, uh...not for science. Well," he corrected himself with determined honesty, "maybe a little."

" _Yes_ ," Cecil said breathlessly, dragging Carlos closer and _up_ for another kiss, forgetting momentarily that his perspective was just slightly skewed. Carlos pecked him on the nose anyway, grinning so delightedly Cecil was only a little mortified at the slip. _Yes,_ he wanted Carlos to see him, for any and all reasons, because that meant that Carlos was staying right there, looking at Cecil like he was still something Carlos wanted. Badly.

Carlos corrected their aim as he was backed towards Cecil's bedroom, caught Cecil's mouth and kissed him until all of his eyes closed. It was easier to open only his mortal pair when he came up at last for air, certain now that every future which mattered was leading in the same direction.

They stumbled to a halt at the foot of the bed, tugging desperately at each other's clothes, the tentacles--not helping, exactly. _Cheating_ was more like it, passing right through the somewhat wrinkled lab coat Carlos must have thrown on in a hurry or never taken off, through a comfortable grey tee to warm skin beneath. Despite the hours and days Cecil had devoted to learning every inch of Carlos already, he might as well have been blind that entire time, his hands wrapped in wool. Through his tentacles Carlos' skin was an intricate blend of rough and smooth, made fascinating by a thousand tiny imperfections of invisible scars long-since healed, a scattering of raised freckles and the springy softness of the thin line of hair trailing down his stomach from the center of his chest. His lean runner's muscles bunched as he arched into Cecil's touch, helping gingerly to peel away his clothes around unhelpful tentacles until he watched an impatient coil melt right through denim.

"Oh, fuck, Cecil," he said in a rush as the tentacle slid against his cock, not winding around him, not yet--not until Carlos fumbled open the top button of his fly and pulled the others loose in a single tug. Given more room to work, Cecil's coils were on him instantly, wrapping him up and stretching out the front of his boxers, Carlos and Cecil's hands tangling clumsily as they joined to shove them down. "Wait--I should--"

"Later," Cecil moaned, wanting to feel more of him, gods, all of him. "You can study them later. All you want. Just let me _touch_ you."

"Sensitive, then," Carlos said distractedly as he was nudged to sit on the edge of the mattress, legs falling open as Cecil dropped to his knees and pushed his way between them. "Heightened tactile perception to go along with the heightened vision? Are there any other si--oh my _fuck. Cecil_."

Cecil had had his eyes closed, mouth pressed to the flat planes of Carlos' stomach as his tentacles slid and curled hungrily. When he dragged his head up and his eyes open, he found Carlos leaned back on his hands, spine bowed and shoulders thrown back, hips arched completely off the bed as the blunt head of one of Cecil's tentacles rubbed coaxing circles against his--

_Oh._ Cecil's breath caught, but Carlos' wide eyes were trusting, his tension due only a little to nerves. "Do you--"

"Lube," Carlos said without hesitation. "I mean, yes. Just...."

He didn't want to say it, but Cecil could see it in his eyes, and it made his heart clench hard inside his chest that Carlos could fear what Cecil's tentacles could do and still be willing, still be _wanting._ "I'll be careful," he promised, dropping a kiss on Carlos' stomach to seal it. While there was a tiny, sneaking part of him that would have liked to twine through every part of Carlos, fill the spaces inside his lungs and join the blood inside his veins, feeling Carlos relax against him and reach down to reel him in was enough.

When Carlos scooted further up the bed, Cecil followed him blindly, kissing any part of him that happened to present itself: a flexing knee, the sharp line of a hip, the jut of his cock. Even as Cecil leaned to rummage distractedly through the nightstand, his tentacles were never still. They wound around Carlos' limbs time and time again, only to unspool reluctantly as Carlos hitched himself along. The feel of all that amazing skin slipping through his grasp turned his hands clumsy, and Cecil came close to forgetting what he was doing as Carlos settled at last, caught the nearest of Cecil's coils with an inviting squeeze and turned his head to nuzzle into another. The rasp of Carlos' stubble nearly unhinged him, and only by twitching his tentacles firmly out of Carlos' grasp did he manage to keep from coming on the spot.

"Too much?" Carlos asked sympathetically, and Cecil whined something strangled and wordless, trembling right on the edge. Smiling, Carlos held out his hand. "Give it here."

Cecil could only stare helplessly until Carlos huffed a gentle laugh and plucked the lube out of his hand instead of capturing a tentacle for his own personal use.

They'd never been particularly fussy in the bedroom. After realizing that Carlos preferred blunt invitations to uncertain hints, sex became as easy as reaching out, and maybe one of them would be in the mood to pull the other down or else they'd rock together, hands and mouths tangling and always slow to part. Once Cecil got him focused, Carlos was more attentive than any lover he'd ever had, devoted to detail and relentless about taking Cecil apart.

As utterly shameless as Carlos could be, Cecil had never watched him slick his own fingers and work them in one by one, opening himself up under Cecil's avid eyes.

His tentacles were hovering over and around them again, afraid to touch but for different reasons. He barely noticed when a handful retracted entirely, though the feeling of them squirming _through_ him made him appreciate Carlos' concern. When they resurfaced, only a handspan of their original length emerged, clustered around his cock, and the ticklish feeling of them cresting through such sensitive skin had him shuddering.

Carlos stared, hand moving unconsciously faster, fingers pressing deeper. "Cecil," he said, and Cecil scrambled instantly into place as if he'd been issued orders. He had to curl his hands around Carlos' knees and hold on tight as Carlos got him ready, slick hand threading through Cecil's tentacles and fisting his cock, applying only the most teasing of pressure.

He wanted to use his tentacles first, but he knew he'd never last. Lining up his cock instead, he pushed in slow, using his grip on Carlos' knees as leverage as Carlos rolled his hips up to meet him. Black coils slithered over Cecil's shoulders and from around his sides to wind around Carlos' legs, latching onto his hips and holding him up at the perfect angle. Cecil let himself slump forward gratefully, bracing on his hands as he rocked his hips back.

They both cried out when he thrust back in, and it was so tight and hot that he didn't stop, didn't slow, fucking into Carlos fast and desperate. One of Carlos' broad palms settled at the back of his neck, holding him so close he was all but grinding into Carlos to get any depth to his stroke. Carlos' left hand snaked off to the side, clutching a fistful of sheets, and as he tipped his head back with a groan, several of Cecil's tentacles stroked over the bared line of his throat like mouthless tongues. Gods, he was so close already.

"Carlos," he panted, sure that any other day he'd be mortified, apologetic.

"God, yes," Carlos groaned, legs flexing in their bonds to pull him in deeper.

Cecil came with a strangled shout, rocking in hard and trying not to slow, to keep going for Carlos as long as he could. It nearly made his eyes roll back when he abruptly found two parts of himself occupying the same place at once, one of his tentacles slipping in to fill the same space as his cock. Hips stuttering, for a moment he was moving in opposite time with himself, tentacle easing back just as he was fucking through it. By the time he softened, it'd grown confident enough on its own, driving in strong and sure while Carlos writhed under him, chanting Cecil's name in a broken voice.

Sweat had broken out across Carlos' dark skin, both arms stretched now across Cecil's pale sheets, hands clawing for anchors. As Cecil sat back and stared wonderingly down at him, Carlos canted his hips up shamelessly, legs straining to spread wider. He was the most amazing thing Cecil had ever seen.

"Carlos," Cecil breathed, ghosting his fingertips over the stretched rim of Carlos' hole, split by one tentacle as the others slid and stroked restlessly. He nearly snatched his hand away at Carlos' startled twitch, but the way Carlos arched up for more and the garbled plea he gasped made Cecil hesitate.

Sliding his fingers into Carlos was breathtakingly simple, his tentacle letting him _in_ without losing any of its girth. And it was easy from there to stretch Carlos wider until another tentacle could worm its way in alongside the first. When they began moving in tandem, Carlos was reduced to sobbing moans, jolted by constant, writhing strokes over his prostate and still trying to hold himself open in a wordless plea for more.

Cecil left his fingers where they were, bunching a fourth in and stuffing Carlos as full as he could. A few steady strokes later and a third tentacle was tickling Carlos' rim, teasing its way inside, and as it slid smoothly home, Carlos seized up, spine arcing until he was braced on his shoulders, coming all but untouched as Cecil's shortened coils moved distractedly over him without ever finding a grip. It seemed for a moment like Carlos would never stop, painting his chest in long pulses that shook him to his bones, but he finally went lax all at once, letting Cecil's tentacles take all his weight as his eyes drifted contentedly shut.

He withdrew from Carlos carefully, comforted to find that he _did_ have control over his new appendages now that he wasn't fighting their very existence. Letting Carlos down slowly, he helped stretch cramping legs out straight and soothed tense muscles as Carlos lay boneless, gasping for breath and groaning appreciatively at Cecil's ministrations. When Carlos was finally able to reach up and tug Cecil down, Cecil collapsed gratefully and melted into Carlos' side, letting the tentacles retreat entirely in favor of clinging skin to skin.

"That," Carlos said after long, comfortable minutes of silence, "was amazing. I think we need to make another sacrifice. Soon. So I can say 'thank you.'"

Cecil huffed a breathless laugh into Carlos' neck, shaking his head a fraction. "It was sacrificing that got us here," he reminded, snuggling closer. "But I do feel bad, in a way. I mean...we both made the sacrifice before, but I'm the only one who got a blessing out of it."

Carlos snorted. "No offense, Cecil," he murmured, smiling into Cecil's hair, "but I can categorically say that right at this moment, I'm feeling _very_ blessed."

Well. Cecil supposed that was all right, then.


End file.
